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\ 







THE 


VOLUME OF YOUTH 


AND OTHER POEMS 


A. W. BLANCHARD 


ROCKFORD, ILL. 

The Clark Company Press 
1906 




LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 10 1906 

Copyright Entry 
CO/. 9. / ^ 0 U 
CLASS tX XXc., No. 
f (o 0 ^ f 9 

COPY B. 



COPYRIGHTED 
By a. W. BLANCHARD 
1906 



TABLE OF CONTENTS, 


The Volume of Youth.:....5 

Ivife Is But A Dream.llj 

To Thine.13 

More Than One. 1-1 

Thou Should Not.15 

Is It Peace. 16 

In The Deep.17 

Those Days of Old.18 

The Inferior Man.19 

Planting Corn. 20 

Character..21 

A Drunken Fool.22 

An Bpic To Fools..22 

My Dove. 23 

Springtime. 23 

To the Grave of Chas, H. Page. 24 

The Poor Ones.25 

An Aged Man..26 

Untrue Affection.-.27 

Kemembrance of Childhood Days. 28 

The Banks of the River.29 

My Anna Belle.30 

In The Fall.31 

That Which We Know Not.32 

To Each Other. 32 

Too Date.33 

The Dove of Youth. 34 

Drone.-.34 

The Wind.. 35 

Thistles..35 

Oh, Mind, Why Dost Thou Weep?. 36 

To Bobbie Burns.-.37 

Good Thoughts. 38 

The Bug.38 

The Maiden.39 

On the Death of My Darling Baby.40 

Thoughts of Dife.41 

The River.42 

To Dockie.43 

Warm Hearted.-.-.45 

Thou Wert Not....45 

Nature Will Ask No More.46 

October Day.47 

The Golden Wedding Day.48 

Sunshine.-.49 

My Parting From Dizzie.50 

Dovers’ Bliss.-.50 

Time.-.51 

When I Am Dead..—...52 

Pride.53 

A Troubled Heart.54 

To Ducy on the Death of Her Dover.55 

A Criticism on the Bankers.55 

The Old Place.56 

To. 5/ 

Dife’s Troubles. 58 

Unseen.58 

Past.59 

Stanza.59 


3 
































































Stanzas to C. H. Page. 

A Gambler. 

Oh, My Jerrie!. 

To My Youthful Maid. 

An Unhappy Man. 

The Kisses of Wishes. 

Knowledge. 

My Father’s Cottage. 

The Falcon’s Dream. 

To A Fantastic Lady.. 

A Dream . 

To The False Bride. - 

Minuet. 

The Republic. 

To My Love. 

’Tis All In The Month of May. 

Society. 

The V\ recked Life. 

To Mary. 

Not For Me. 

Then You’ll Love Me as I Love You. 

Old Age. 

Those Days That Are Gone... 

The Truest Must Part... 

Stanzas.. 

A Toast. . 

Why Ami To Blame. 

Oh, Scenes!. 

None But Me.. 

The Dew of Youth... 

Pleasures and Woes. 

Stanzas. 

Gone. 

What Has Passed. 

’Tisn’t That... 

Life is Not Always May. 

Childhood Days. 

The Old Tree and Me. 

The Bunco Man. 

On the Death of a Neighbor... 

Transfixed. 

Remembrance. 

Life’s Changes. 

On The Golden Wedding of James Taylor 

Maggie, (J-ong). 

Death .. 

The Seasons Change. 

Hope. 

My Love, Adieu. 

A June Day. 

Bachelors. 

The Age That is Past. 

My Annon (Song). 

To My Old Love. 

’Tis But Pain. 

Regret . 

Bv A Kiss. 

My Heart Sinks in Woe.. 

To An End.. 

The Rising Moon.. 

It Is Pride... 

Decoration to Soldiers’ Graves___ 

Passed Life.... 

Sorrow___ 

Calendar Week...... 

I Remember___ 

Youth_ 

The Golden Pen. 

Passed On..... 

The Ant___ 

Careless. 


..59 

..60 

..60 

..62 

..62 

.63 

..63 

.... 64 

.65 

.66 

.66 

.67 

.67 

.68 

.69 

.70 

.71 

.72 

.73 

.74 

.75 

.75 

.76 

_77 

.77 

.78 

.80 

.HI 

.82 

.83 

.84 

.84 

.... 85 

.86 

.87 

.88 

.89 

.90 

.90 

.91 

.91 

.92 

.93 

.94 

.95 

.96 

.97 • 

.98 

.99 

....100 

....101 

....103 

....106 

....109 

....no 

....111 

....112 

....113 

....114 

....115 

....116 

....117 

....117 

....118 

....119 

....119 

—.119 

....120 

....120 

....120 


4 























































































THE VOLUME OF YOUTH 


As I sat one lonely evening 
By the still firelight’s glow, 

Pondering over my bereavements 
Of the years of long ago. 

It only added to the stillness, 

With a timid feeling of gloom. 

And my heart grew more restless 

As through the shutters peeped the moon; 
The wind whistled low its moaning 
And every crevice and sliver queaked. 

But it only added to that lonely longing 
That makes a sad heart weep. 

What makes our hearts more sad and lonely 
When the best of our lives we’ve seen; 

Then we dwell upon the past and that only 
When we think what we might have been. 
But life is bound with so many mistakes. 

For the bubble of fortune does come and go. 
And those that have, they feel so great, 

It only adds grief to another’s woe. 

But fortune is not all the pleasure. 

As those might think who do not know. 

For there may be some little hidden treasure 
That might forever burn thy bosom’s core. 

I guided my life by promised gifts 
From the scenes of pleasure spoken. 

But I soon found out that I was left. 

And those vows were forever broken. 

Like nights that grew dark and dreary, 

Or like some haunted dungeon place. 


5 


My heart then grew more weary, 

For I saw no friendly face. 

For those to me that used to smile— 

It would have been better had I never knew— 
For now, it is only to chase some other’s style 
And court a friendship new. 

But to pursue a friendship new. 

Either domestic or foreign. 

And to cherish a heart that is not true 
Might lead your own to do wrong. 

But to cherish a heart that is true 
’Tis there the vine of virtue climbs; 

.Then a life of pleasure we can pursue 
And a happy home be thine, 

For women with the truest breast 
With the love of virtue are pleased; 

They are like birds that build their nests, 

And offspring bring them love and ease. 

What does more exhaust man’s force, 

Or what will more enslave the mind, 

And change his life to a dhSerent course, 

With pleasures of different kind? 

For to break that mount of hope. 

That does so untrain the mind. 

It brings to man the bitterest stroke 
That ever turned the wheel of time. 

But from the early tide of man 
It does so often point its ways 
From some love’s promised hand 
That breaks the nuptial day. 


For we are broken from the bars of fortune 
And from homeward we are cast, 

For life is but a misfortune 

And we forever wear the mask. 

But to the world and all its duties, 

Or to the bright sun that shines, 

Heaven must glow all in beauty, 

For this earth seems but crime. 

We are all doomed by the same creation, 

But the way of the transgressor seems hard; 

But it may be only our imagination 

For we all yield to the same merciful God. 

What is life and all its treasures 
If all the world we should own? 

It wouldn’t make home a pleasure 

Unless you have some heart to warm your own. 

For people make such grave mistakes 
In the violation of nature’s laws; 

They never find it out until it is too late 
To ever mend the cause. 

For what is home without children 

And for them to clamber upon your knee. 

And to see them play and have their fun 
And see yourself as you used to be. 

For we can never recall that youth, 

And our faults are the most we feel. 

But to us you couldn’t tell that truth 
Which now we can reveal. 

But, oh, that glow of youth that has passed! 

That promised love can never be redeemed, 


7 


But that heart that broke that clasp 
May feel as I have been, 

And what such hearts may feel 
Others cannot express; 

And those woes can never be healed 
Until life’s sun has set. 

When I retrace my faulted steps 
As many others have traced, 

It seems as no others so sorely wept 

And so early fell from the pride of grace. 

For when I was but a mere boy 

And with my playmates I used to play, 

Then one of my most simple toys 

Was sweeter than now the banquet day; 

Then we had nothing to retrace. 

The future was all its own, 

And the past couldn’t look back with that disdain¬ 
ful face, 

Which I have reaped and sown. 

Oh, that tender look and loving kiss 
Which once I did adorn. 

Which gave to me such happy bliss, 

Is now forever gone. 

But what will add more to that heart’s relief 
In this world of woeful song. 

Than to woo a heart you can believe 
That never has done no wrong. 

For that only adds to the trueness 
In that hope of love’s divine 
And adds to the pleasures renewing 
And leaves the past behind. 

8 


Oh, if I had never loved! 

Better it might have been too, 

Then I would never have known the follies 
That oftimes lovers do. 

For I was loved and jilted 

And it was to me my last adieu. 

For I was plucked and wilted 
And never again bloomed anew. 

But I still scan my eagle eye 
To the vile act of human creed. 

But now I only smile and pass them by 
As warriors guide their steed. 

But, oh, upon me how it has worn! 

Like the walls of time. 

For it’s awful hard to heal a sore 
That’s inflicted on the mind. 

For when the grass comes in the spring 
And the roses unfold their buds. 

And the little birds so sweetly sing 
All in the spring of love; 

’Tis then I feel that withered hope 
That does so nag the mind. 

And every little bird’s sweet voice and note 
Only adds grief to my decline. 

For if I had only had offspring. 

Even one to call my own. 

Then when I’d hear that tender voice sing 
It would help to sooth my own. 

But to take some one I don’t want. 

Too oft’ such lives we see. 


9 


You’ll find many a broken heart 

That is dragged down in the woes of misery; 

But to marry in the trueness of love and virtue, 
Then offspring a pleasure would be, 

Then in God’s law we have done our duty 
And a mother’s heart is free. 

For then my love was not a love of passion. 

Nor of wrong nor of disgrace; 

I thought not of the world’s foolish fashion. 

Only in love’s sweet embrace. 

For I was then as tender as the rose 
That blooms in early May, 

And was as soft as the first falling snows 
That soon melts away. 

But, oh, youth! those allotted dreams 
I would then only smile to tell; 

Then earth was all a heavenly scene 
Where ’ere my heart did dwell. 

Oh, the tempting tide of youth 
Which long has passed. 

And the one who should have been true 
Still wears the mask. 

Still she carries the same and fair uplifted sail. 

But in secrecy she wears a veil 

Which burns to the heart like a smothered flame 
Which can’t be quenched by tears nor changing 
name. 

And yet as fair as she may be 
I care not even for her to see. 

For her wrongs are as deep as the sea 
That brooded to me the woes of misery. 


10 


And now for me to unveil that sorrow 
Which was once love’s sweet embrace, 

It only haunts the thoughts of tomorrow 
And adds to my own disgrrce. 

For whenever I see that love’s embrace 
Then my early scenes it does recall 
And when I see my old and wrinkled face 
Then all hope is gone. 

But, oh, youth! those early departed hours 
Are now but scenes of the past. 

They are like new blown flowers 
That have withered before the blast. 

Then what’s the use for me to weep, my darling. 
For the wrong which thou hast done. 

For it has only taught me a warning 
To shun the foolish and fickle tongue. 

There is so many a pretty face and fickle brain 
That wear those deceitful smiles 
And leave so many a home in disgrace and shame 
And leaves many a homeless and motherless child. 
So ’tis better that I have learned thee 
Before we were joined as one. 

For then if thou had deceived me 

A greater wrong thou would have done. 

But now, to all of my readers, 

Or to whom this may concern. 

That a life like this you’ll have to lead 
Or otherwise a lesson learn. 

For there, the young, the old and the feeble. 

Or the greatest men of estate. 


11 


They all have their share of trouble 
And make many a mistake. 

But there’s many that die from love that’s withered, 
Many a true and honest one, 

From this world’s pleasures they are driven 
By the faults of another one. 

M 

LIFE BUT A DREAM. 

Oh, what have I to regret 
In all these earthly scenes, 

For half we know we do forget. 

And life is but a dream. 

As through the world we pass. 

It leaves but a forgotten scene, 

And to chase back o’er the past. 

It seems that life is but a dream. 

When I look to my future years. 

As my past I have seen, 

I wipe away a regretful tear 
And say life is but a dream. 

Now, soon this withered form 
Will pass beyond this theme. 

But still I feel no fear 
For life is but a dream. 

Then what have I to regret 
In all these earthly scenes; 

For all we know we do forget 
And life is but a dream. 


12 


TO THINE. 


Oh, that tender cheek of thine 

Which once resembled the autumn glow, 
Which was once all the hope of mine. 

Is now but a living woe. 

Oh, those early joyful spells 

That used to speed away the day. 

Now those scenes I can only tell, 

For they have withered to decay. 

Oh, youth, it was then so sweet 
To gaze o’er those skies above. 

Oh, could I my youth again repeat 
And tell those tales of love. 

When that heart would so fondly give 
That soft cheek that would press mine, 

Oh, then how sweet it was to live 
When the heart knew no crime. 

Oh, were that cheek again the same 
That would paint the autumn skies. 

It would free my heart from this burning pain 
And dry the tears from my eyes. 

Now sorrow and age have told the tale 
And grief has been my only blow. 

But what others may avail, 

Alas, mine must go. 


13 


MOKE THAN ONE. 


y 


Oh, how sweet it was to love 
When first love begun, 

But you’ll find it’s as true as the heavens above 
That you’ll find woes more than one. 

When lime steals the bud of youth 
And our bloom is gone. 

It tells us many a truth— 

That woes are more than one. 


But time from the frailest wings 
Is sure to pass on, 

Then we think love is a fickle thing. 

And we’ll find woes more than one. 

Had we not been so soon beguiled 
And so fond to love. 

Then we might have fancied some other’s smile 
And still found woes more than one. 

Nor matter what we do. 

Nor who is the precious one. 

For the sweetest love is not always true 
And will find'woes more than one. 

But in the sweetest age of fancy, 

If you had millions when you begun. 

You will find marriage is but chancery. 

And you will find woes more than one. 


14 


) 


So make the best of this, 

Whether in sorrow or in song, 

For there are none so truly blessed 
But what have woes more than one. 

But to look at those in the highest life, 
We know not their home, 

But we always fancy some other’s life. 

But still they have woes more than one. 

For they have cares that we know not, 

As numerous as the shadows of the sun. 
For happiness is never bought. 

For we all have woes more than one. 

For life is but a fickle thing 
And trouble, it has no end. 

For those feelings will linger still 
And will make woes more than one. 


M 

THOU vSHOULD NOT. 

Thou should not feed on woes 
For it is not a gift. 

It is like where reptiles grow. 
Which should not exist. 

For feeding those woes 

Is like making reptiles siss; 
It only haunts the flow 
And broods unhappiness. 


15 


IS IT PEACE« 


Oh, come, now let us wait 

Where no sorrow we will know, 

For we will soon be at the gate 
Where peace and happiness flow. 

For there is peace and love 
Beyond the other shore, 

For in the heavens above 
Is peace forevermore. 

With all our earthly joys. 

Or with all our sorrows and woes. 

We weren’t put here to destroy 
What little we know. 

We were put here to make and take 
The peace of God’s will. 

And his laws not to break. 

But only to fulfill. 

With all the time that is past, 

Or with all the knowledge unknown. 
We can’t help but see the peace 
That blooms upon the throne. 

Oh, how soon will it pass. 

When joys and woes will cease. 

And how soon will be the last 
When I can have my peace. 


16 


IN THE DEEP. 


From the pitiful grave 

Shadowed by the glittering moon, 

And now his sins are saved, 

Hidden by that tomb. 

But in that everlasting sleep, 

Oh, that feeling of gloom. 

But with the silence of the deep, 

Hidden by that tomb. 

It may be by that blessed sleep 
That we pass this world of gloom. 

For no sorrow heaven keeps 

When we’re hidden by that tomb. 

Ah, break from the darkest night. 

From this land of worry, 

Where he sees the heavenly light, 

And woes are wrapped in glory. 

Tike the twinkling of a star, 

’Tis but a moment here we linger. 
Then we are forever there. 

And our bones with dust must mingle. 

Oh, the great superior! 

And why should hope decline. 

This earth is but a hidden pier 
For a mark of heaven divine. 


17 


THO^E DATS OF OLD. 


The day is stormy, both dark and cold, 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

As I sit within my window glass 

That shields from me the wintry blast 

And the snow falls both thick and fast 
And like by hundreds pass; 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold, 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

Once my life I loved, and yet so true 
As once a maid, a maid I knew. 

Yet so false and untrue. 

Like the birds of the air so far has flew. 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold. 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

My life is sad, both dark and cold. 

It brings to me a sadder and more melancholy 
thought 

Of those days of old. 

From within my heart it can never part; 

Within my hand a clasp I hold, 

Within the vision of my eyes 
I see those days of old. 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold, 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 


18 


There is no sweet repose in life, I know, 

For, like the wintry blast, it fell both thick and 
fast, 

Both from friends and foes. 

With misery and woe of those days of long ago. 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold. 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

But oh, and oh, how can it be. 

When locks are gray on which we see, 

And no one can friendly be, 

No one to share with me my company. 

But everything so dark and desolate. 

My heart is on unbounded fate. 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold. 

It brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

Oh stop, sad heart, let those days depart, 

It was but within thy stream of life, 

And with no thoughts of woe. 

My heart in happiness then did flow; 

We all must see some days of old. 

The day is stormy, both dark and cold, 
it brings to me a sadder thought 
Of those days of old. 

M 

THE aNFERIOR. MAN. 

Little and yet littler contains, 

Thy brow wears the mark of shame. 


19 


PLANT8NO CORN. 


We’er putting in the seed 

To bring forth the responsible weed, 
And we hope it will give us all we need, 
Yes we do, indeed. 

If nature does well all its parts. 

So happily then we can live. 

Then more open would feel our hearts 
That to poor orphans we might give. 

Springtime is but a rustle and bustle, 

’Tis late at night and early in the morn. 
This life is but a weary and dreary hustle, 
Yes, when we are planting corn. 

But yet I still like to farm. 

For that is about all I know. 

But I am so pressed in nature’s arms 
,And so I’ll hoe the row. 

For we are all like a bed of ants. 

But are not as industrious, 

Some do more than their pait 
While others will shirk. 

Some are always finding fault 

With nature and with nature’s laws, 
And some will laugh and talk 
While others will jaw. 

What is the use to be always finding fault 
In what we are given. 

For ’tis but our only lot 

And in nature’s laws we are driven. 


20 


So in nature’s laws 

We might as well be content, 

For the world a living owes 

And our lives are shortly spent. 

So pass not on this too much, 

Nor on pleasures nor on pride. 

Nor that all this world is chance and luck. 
Nor that fortune always smiles. 

But be as thou should be 

And within thy self never forsake. 

While in wealth or poverty. 

Let it be little or great. 

CHARACTER.. 

I was born in disgrace and poverty 
To die in shame, 

For that seems to be the character 
Of all my name. 

So unfortunate are we 

To many births thats given. 

So oft’ they are damned 
And like cattle driven. 

There are such few that have 
The finer part of man. 

So oft’ they’re frowned to scorn 
From poverty’s hand. 


21 


A DRUNKEN FOOL. 


Here is a man that is drunk 
And such a pity too, 

For he stinks worse than a skunk 
And looks like the devil too. 

There are many men endowed by nature 
And educated too— 

Oh, how foolish was our creator 
To make such a fool as you. 

Fools are many and plenty. 

And smart men will get drunk too. 

By scores more than twenty. 

And are smarter men than you. 

But a drunken man will get sober 

And go on with whatever he has to do. 
But a damn fool never knows nothing. 
No matter what you do. 

AN EPIC TO FOOL.S 

He thinks he knows, and knows it all, 

But he knows nothing, nothing at all; 

He is only wise in his own conceit, 

Fools always blab and nothing keep; 

The mind that knows and does not speak 
Can see the blunders of conceit. 


22 


nr LOVE. 

So fair your fields 

And green your woods, 

They look so sweetly; 

How much again I would give 
For my love to greet me. 

But nature is pressing me on, 

For again I will never see you, 

But there is a remembrance 
Still lingers in my heart, 

When you loved me so fondly. 

For so fondly were those lips 
That I used to press, 

But now some other does 
Which is wrongly. 

To which I did dearly press. 

M 

iPRINOTIME 

The flowers bloom in love 

And shine as bright as the stars above. 
Then why should we doubt our creator 
That all is love. 

The trees open their leaves 
From the robes of springtime. 

Then everything has relief 
Even to the woodbine. 

And the birds begin to sing. 

And the grass gets green o’er the ground, 
And the squirrels play all around. 

All with the love of springtime. 


23 


TO THE GRAVE OF CHA^. H. PAGE. 


I saw them heap thy grave with clay and soil, 

But we’ll plant the flowers with love and toil, 

And with deep regret to him who has gone, 

That we have loved and loved so long. 

We’ll watch that grave and keep it clean. 

For he who lies there in that silent dream. 

Who, on earth no more will ne’er be seen, 

But in heaven he is both white and clean. 

As the seasons do both come and go, 

And flowers there will bloom to let us know. 

That there lies a friend that is as cold as snow. 

That once to us was sweeter than the hawthorne blow. 

But now, what cares he as he lies in that cold and silent 
tomb. 

Whether flowers or not o’er his grave may bloom, 

For he hath gone to a more heavenly place to rest. 

Where angels may sing and God may bless. 

How long will it be before we will again meet at some 
silent tomb, 

Where we will have the same feeling of sadness and of 
gloom. 

Where we'll bow our hats and tears we’ll shed 
For the love and respect of the dead. 


24 


THE POOR. ONEi. 


The hot blazing sun 
With all its rage 
Impresses on the poor ones 

When in toils they are engaged. 

But the poor ones have to work, 

The rich lie in the shade, 

And they care not for his sake, 

But take what little is made. 

Oh, the poor and the depressed, 

The weary toilsome ones, 

If there’s any that should be blessed 
They are those that toil in the sun 

There is the great millionaire, 

The kings of high estate. 

They care not for their fellowmen. 
Only make their wealth more great. 

The poor are looked at with disgrace, 
The rich are bowed to with honor. 
For the poor there is no place, 

Only the weary toils of others. 

But only from the lapse of time 
And wars of peace 
For the inhuman mind. 

Will it ever cease? 


25 


AN AGED MAN. 


I met an aged man 

One cold December day, 

He had a bundle in his hand, 

And his hair was gray. 

The wind was wild and bleak. 

And he went tottering on, 

I saw a tear upon his cheek 

And his face was decked with scorn. 

Why should man in his declining age 
To be forced on so, 

Why should nature in its rage 
Brood to man such a woe. 

But from the love of follies 

It is there man loiters his prime. 
With nature’s laws he bothers 
Which broods to him the crime. 

Why does man in his youthful age 
Loiter away the best of his time. 

For we suffer in our older age 
From the follies of our prime. 

Is it from the vile and unmanly cause 
That which is forced upon thee. 

Or is it from nature’s laws 

That broods the woes of misery. 


26 


With all the knowledge of nature’s breast 
Why did she then create man so? 

Why didn’t she have a land of pleasures blest, 
And not had this, a land of woe? 

Why then should man be to blame 
For the way he does? 

Nature had ought to be ashamed 
To give a man such a dose. 

For this life is but an invisible woe 
And is bound by the wars of sorrow. 

For about all we know is that we come and go 
The same as the flowers blow. 

UNTRUE AFFECTIONi 

We pour out the tide of our affections 
With all our love and grace; 

With the false actions of nature. 

We bind ourselves with the faith. 

Like a summer’s smoothest waters, 

A storm does soon disturb, 

We find the snare of love is a bother 
And our actions are plainer than words. 

But the most of the affections 
Is but a false and fickle thing. 

And love is no longer a blessing. 

But a burden without wings. 

So oft’ we are the fools of follies 
And we are so blind we cannot see. 

We think love is an unrivaled joy. 

And it is as pure as a virgin’s dream. 


27 


REMEMBRANCE OF CHILDHOOD DATi. 


I remember my childhood days 
When so happily I used to play, 

But I can now only loiter back 
And rest my memory there, 

I remember those trees that used 

To put forth their greenwood shroud, 

And turn from that to golden brown. 

Then life was a golden crown. 

Oh, can you recall those distant days 
When under the trees we used to play. 

And our hearts so quickly did obey 

To those that have gone and passed away? 

I remember those flowers that used to bloom 
Along the walk that entered thy room. 

And see the friendly faces of all. 

Tears like a time from my eyes do fall. 

I wonder yet, and think there still 

Of those green valleys and lofty hills; 

Those hills yet remain, the valley is green the same, 

But that which has passed and gone is what presses our 
hearts to pain. 

I remember that window of east. 

The woodbine that brought forth its greenwood leaves, 

Both from a warm sunshine and springward breeze, 

Shades all through the bright blue day; 

But autumn soon steals them away. 

And to and fro stings them with their wind and snow. 


28 


The woodbine still remains 

And shades there o’er its window panes, 

It has no friends to either lose or gain, 

Neither no blot or stain to its name. 

I remember that apple tree that used to bloom 
With the sweet perfume of the bright May moon, 
Dressed in all its finest array, 

Bore fruit to be ate on some cold wintry day. 

As around the hearth they quietly sat 
Not one in number would be forgot, 

Yet whether warm or cold 

Within their hearts they always hold. 

the: BANKi OF THE: rive:k. 

I sat on the banks of the river 

For I had a little time to loiter, 

So I sat and gazed in the water. 

While gazing I began to think and ponder 
That life was a wonder. 

While loitering back to my early life 
It told me the truth, 

That I had spent the best days in my youth. 
Oh, what would I give again to live 

Back o’er that roam of life? 

But that is gone, 

Like the river sings its morning song 
And all pleasures from me have departed, 

For I feel sad and broken hearted. 


29 


MY ANNA BELLE. 

How I love your tree of shade, 

With all your orbs of green, 

There I long for my bed to be made. 

In that everlasting dream. 

Down where those brooklets run, 

In those living dells. 

There’s where we told our tales of love. 

Oh, my sweet Anna Belle. 

So oft she pressed me to her breast. 

And with kisses that were so sweet, 

But now she lies there, cold at rest, 

With marble at her head and feet. 

But I often go and visit that spot, 

In the sweet love, that has gone. 

Which I can never forget 
As the day is long. 

But that place has not changed 
Nor either have those dells. 

But my heart sighs in pain 
For my sweet Anna Belle. 

But love is a tender feeling 
When to the heart it is given. 

It has all the hope of life to live 

And all the pleasures of earth and heaven. 

Oh, sweet, sweet was the day 

When we played down by the dells. 

But now, sad, sad is the day. 

For, oh, my sweet Anna Belle. 


IN THE FALL. 


My life is now in the fall 

And I feel the autumn breeze, 

For I have but little hope at all 
For the hearts I tried to please. 

But the green leaf of my youth 
Is turning that now to brown, 

But I know it is but true 

For I heed that mournful sound. 

To nurse this earth of hope. 

What more can be the mound. 

For there is but few words that are spoke. 
And then they lay me down. 

A man’s friends are but few 

And less when you know them all. 
There is hardly one that is true. 

They are like visions on the wall. 

A man is not missed here much 
From the mass of the multitude. 

He is only like a grain of sand 
And is less in his pursuit. 

But hope is always springing forth, 

Like the flowers of the spring, 

But autumn soon changes its coat. 

And death is the sting. 


31 


THAT WHICH WE KNOW NOT 


The sun was made to rise and set, 

And shine the live long day, 

The night was made to rule the rest 
And hide the tricks of human ways. 

For there’s many a scene that we know not, 
That are hidden from the day. 

And there’s many a hope that would be broke 
If the curtain was pulled away. 

There’s many a heart that’s bound by hope. 
With the trueness of love unknown. 

And if the truth it should be spoke 
It would ruin many a home. 

It may be better that we know not 
That which is hidden away, 

What the eyes don’t see the heart grieveth not. 
So let the devil play. 


TO EACH OTHEK. 

With so many a temptation 
Our morals we do abuse. 

And is there any damnation 
That is worse than the truth? 
For girls will grow to women, 
And boys will grow to men. 
And they love to hug each other 
And think it no sin. 


32 


TOO LATE. 


Ah, alas, it is too late. 

The bloom of life is gone, 

I can see where I’ve made my mistake 
And where I’ve done wrong. 

For now I have no home, 

No place to call my own. 

It is all in a frantic roam. 

And no one to sooth nor mourn. 

If I had have had children. 

It is more than money can own, 

I could have lived in a wilderness. 

And yet I would have had a home. 

There are no smiles to greet me 

And none to mark thy father’s face. 

And there is no one to kiss me 
And none to fill thy place. 

Oh, what is this life 

When sorrow and age has worn? 

’Tis nothing but toils and strife. 

Then all hope of life is gone. 

Oh, had I then in youth 

The pleasure in life to adorn. 

Then the little ones could tell the truth 
Of a father’s happy home. 


33 


THE LOVE OF YOUTH. 


It was where the wild roses bloomed, 

It was where life was sweeten’d with all its perfume, 

It was where the crystal waters flowed, 

It was where the first joys of life we knew, 

It was where we knew no sorrow nor grief. 

It was where our lives were like the new born leaf. 

It was where the high notes of the whippoorwill were heard. 
It seemed softer to us than sweet whispered words. 

It was there we heard the distant coyotes bark. 

With a silent and tender ear we’d hark. 

And the silvery moon would throw its shadows dark. 

It would seem almost to soften and melt our hearts. 

It was there we had no life to regret. 

No joys nor woes to forget. 

But everything was all in sweet communion. 

And love was all the union; 

But everything will be within the time of truth, 

Man’s tombstone is written upon his youth. 

DRONE. 

Only those that have the heart of a drone 
Can live always and be unknown. 

For those that sit and mope and rust away 
Are but little use to the human ways. 


34 


THE WIND. 


The wind it whistles, 

I hear the mournful sound, 

It makes me think of the misery 
And those dear ones that are gone. 

Oh, home was so dear 

When we all gathered around, 

I wipe away many a tear 

And heed that mournful sound. 

But once when we are parted, 

The same again can never be, 

Yet we feel sad and broken hearted. 

For the dear ones we cannot see. 

Oh, what is this dreary world 

When all pleasures of home are gone? 

I have heard it so often told. 

But now I heed the mournful sound. 


THIvSTLEJ. 

Thistles may bloom at the door. 

Yet rain drops will spatter 
And wide o’er the world will scatter 
Yet we know not tomorrow 
What the day may be of sorrow. 


35 


OH MIND, WHY DO^T THOU WECP« 

Oh, mind, why dost thou weep 
And in silence dost thou keep 
In the love thou dost endure? 

Why then don’t thee take the cure? 

Where love is innocent, love is pure. 

Once in my youth love I tried, 

It seemed like to bury itself away. 

Yet all my affections have not died. 

And yet it was more than all the living rays 
To spoil the bud, blights the future love and turns it ashy 
gray. 

I’ve wondered and seen, yea, more I have felt. 

Yet it has impoverished me in wealth. 

And my brow wears that mark of sorrow’s pain, 

But let that pass for which has passed can never be again. 
Love will either heal in happiness or break in pain. 

I know my mind like in madness weeps. 

And that’s why I so vainly hold. 

For such deceit upon my mind does never sleep. 

Yet I know I am growing gray and old, 

It’s more oft’ times felt than told. 

Yet ne’er shall I ask thee to wipe my scornful and sullen 
brow, 

Ne’er shall I turn back to kiss or even with thee to bow, 
For life is but a shadow, and love is but one of the rays. 

It only sweetens the thoughts of tomorrow and vanishes 
the day, 

Sorrow is but the contempt of day, 

Is there pleasure when we leave this moulded clay ? 


36 


TO ROBBIE BURN^. 


There was Bobbie Burns, a great man, 
And in mind he did expand; 

He told to all the world 
All the beauty of this land. 

He would make woes look sweet, 

He could make joys look dark. 

His mind it was complete 
With the music of a lark. 

He told them the humble truth. 

Both the good and the bad. 

But humanity did him abuse. 

And that was what made him sad. 

But the ignorance of the world 
Bobby did despise. 

For the inhuman part of the soul. 

Both the weak and the wise. 

He was a poet by nature 

And his name will live forever. 

For he beautified all the nation. 

Like all the flowers of earth and heaven. 

But poor Bobbie died 

When in years he was young. 

But the world can never deny 
The beauty of his tongue. 


37 


He had all the beauty of the flowers, 

And all the beauty of nature he did bless, 
While in his few leisure hours 
And damned all the rest. 

But I’ve kissed many a poet’s thought, 

They lie deep buried in my soul. 

But to the common world both die and rot, 
Yet they are more precious than gold. 

M 

GOOD THOUGHTS. 

Good thoughts and smiling words 

Make a pleasant family o’er the wide world. 
For death upon all does so slowly creep, 

’Tis but a mere dream of sleep. 

But the wild roses will bloom o’er our graves. 
And there the honey bee will sup his fill 
And fly o’er this wide world of will. 

But God’s hand upon thee will never chill. 

the: bug. 

Oh, ye bugs that creep and crawl 
And life never sprawl, 

But crawls to the tops of dungs of walls. 

Face all streaked with haste. 

No thought of disgrace. 

But everything within its place. 

There goes the fly, off o’er its merry chase. 
Sups its fill whene’er it finds its place; 
Then the toad comes along with a sprawl. 
Lops his jaw and takes it all. 


38 


THE MAIDEN 


Oh, maiden, what haunts thy mind ? 

That which is thine 
Which is sacred 
From all mankind. 

My character is sacred. 

My virtue it is true. 

Which I never will forsake. 

Not for the likes of you. 

My feelings are those of greatness. 
And my feelings are true. 

But your feelings are not the same 
As my feelings are for you. 

I’ll always protect 

My character and my name. 
Which man seldom does respect. 

But usually damns the same. 

For a man has no feelings 
For womankind, 

Only for his own revealings 
That leads them blind. 

If a man had more feelings 
And was more true. 

The world would be better off. 

By more than thousands too. 

We’er both put here equal. 

With a mode of life to do, 

And not to be so wicked. 

But live more true. 


39 


For a woman was my mother, 

And I believe her true, 

For she is more dear than all the others. 
And I respect her too. 

Now, respect thy mother 

Above everything else on God’s earth. 
For she with love and beauty 
Has given thee thy birth. 


ON THE DEATH OF MIT DARLING BABT. 

So fare the well, my little darling. 

For thou hast left me all alone. 

But, oh, so hard was your lot 
And so cold now your spot. 

As one by one thy mourners did part. 

And left thee alone in that cold graveyard lot. 

But once you was all my heart. 

Now thou liest forever to rot. 

So oft’ thy little fingers around mine have entwined, 
And with those little arms so oft’ would embrace. 
Those little lips so softly would press mine. 

With those sweet smiles upon thy face. 

But now those little lips are cold, cold. 

Both numb and stiff are those little arms. 

But again I can never kiss. 

For those smiles are forever gone. 


40 


It was on the seventeenth day of September, 

Yes, upon that dreadsome day. 

So oft’ I do remember 

When from me thou forever passed away. 

He was just two years old 
Upon that dreadsome day. 

So oft’ in my arms I used to hold, 

But he is now coldly wrapped in clay. 

But oh, so hard was your lot. 

And now so cold your spot, 

And from thee I must depart 

And leave thee there forever to rot. 

Oh, but now, grief and sorrow. 

Thy lot seems to be all mine, 

Yet, there may be something in tomorrow. 

But today all hope looks blind. 

If I have no soul. I’ll have no woes nor worries. 

But if he has a soul he is now wrapped in glory. 
But what have I got left me now but this, 

A bundle of woes without a kiss. 

M 

THOUOHTi OF LIFE. 

My heart still beats and palpitates. 

My mind still thinks and cooperates. 

But the blood to my brain does both ebb and burn. 
For there are thoughts I can never spurn. 


41 


THE, RIVER.. 


Oh, the river 

That is so long and deep, 

Thou art a fine giver. 

But a cold receiver. 

I know of two little boys 
That was fast at play 

And were full of joy 
That you swept away. 

They were mere infants 
And thought of no harm, 

And were just as innocent 
As the day is long. 

It was when your banks 
Were snowy white, 

Then you buried them deep. 

Far out of sight. 

But you had no word 
To give or say. 

But went on with your force and merge 
And swept them away. 

But they were found 
Long, long ago, 

Near some joining town 
By those who didn’t know. 

But now they lay by your banks. 

In their long, long sleep. 

But you forced them to such ranks 
From your waters deep. 


42 


TO DOCKIE. 


It was in the stillness of the night, 

In those hidden hours, 

There they were wrapped in each others delight 
And their kisses rained like showers. 

But their passion was hidden within 
Like some unseen rose, 

And they turned their virtue to sin. 

And took their sweet repose. 

But with all their stillness. 

And with the untold time. 

He walked in with all his trueness, 

And saw the brood of crime. 

But bound by all the bars of faith, 

And love was his decree. 

But what will more condemn his race 
When love is but misery. 

As they lie slumbering close together. 

As bare as all creation, 

A man can’t deny his mother. 

But could slay a nation. 

He bowed all in love’s sweetness, 

And the follies of youth were gone, 

But he found he loved in weakness. 

As time pressed him on. 

Had he not have loved so truly. 

He would not have loved so blind. 

He thought all love was true, 

And as his, was as kind. 


43 


What is as sweet or as tender 
As the wedlock of youth, 

Then, to have a man put asunder 
And rob virtue’s truth. 

For once those vows are rent 
The same again can never be, 

And their lives are but in misery spent 
And they feel the burden of society. 

Oh, how sweet a man must feel 
When all that true love is his own. 
Then for some other man to steal 
The virtue of his home. 

Then that sweet murmur of life is gone. 
It is but a deep hidden woe. 

And those kisses are but a thorn 
And will burn thy bosom’s core. 

For it is but a weary pang of woe. 

With a dark embrace of sorrow. 

And there’s nothing that can flow 
That will break the tide of sorrow. 

For there are so few that know 
That death it has no foe. 

And that such living woes 
Are worse than dead sorrows. 

For once those ties are broken 
The bond of affection is gone. 

It seems like a coming resurrection 
To force a right to wrong. 


44 


For that sweet hope of youth 
From me has been stolen away 
From my own knowledge of truth, 
Which withers my heart to decay. 

Even the eagle will take its flight 
And scan the skies above, 

To feed and protect its young 
In a home of love. 

But when virtue’s love is gone. 

Life is but a weary pang. 

It is only a curse to man. 

And we are never the same again. 

M 

WAR.M HEAKTED. 

There were many warm and true hearted 
Who look sad and cold. 

From whom like death has departed, 
Which makes them look sad and old. 

M 

THOE WER.T NOT. 

The love of youth. 

The frailest woes 
Of the human heart. 

But when in youth 
How little we know 
Which thou wert not. 


45 


NATURE WILL ASK. NO MORE. 


Why should we weep and mourn 
For what we can’t procure, 

For nature never means no harm, 

So we might as well endure. 

For moss will grow on the coldest rock 
And the tide will wash the shore. 

And everything was made to do its part. 
And nature will ask no more. 

For life is but like a rain drop 
And it is as momentary, 

For it’s little time we have here to stop. 
So what’s the use to worry. 

Still we live in the deepest hope, 

Our pleasures we do adore. 

And when we do a wrong we do regret. 
And nature will ask no more. 

We all have a place to fulfill, 

No matter what our lot may be. 

But to some this earth it is a hell, 

While others live in glee. 

But all of our ancestry 

That have passed on before 
They lay now forever at rest. 

And nature will ask no more. 

The trees they shed their leaves 
And sink away to rest, 

They go back to their mother earth 
For others to progress. 


46 


Everything is painted by nature’s gift, 

And our fate it is no more 
And we the same are laid to rest, 

And nature will ask no more. 

But in all nature’s life 

There is many a curious scene. 

But there never was a birth without a strife. 

Nor a mountain without a drain; 

For the moss will grow on the coldest rock, 

And the tide will wash the shore, 

And everything was made to do its part 
And nature will ask no more. 

M 

OCTOBER. DAY. 

This is a fine October day. 

And the leaves are falling to decay. 

And the little birds have left their nests 
And have flown far away. 

And the hazy sun of the October day. 

Throws its shadows o’er the fields that look so gray, 

And the flowers have all passed away. 

And the summer fruits have gone to decay. 

Then comes on the cool and chilly nights, 

And paints the fields with its glittering white; 

And so the seasons do progress and go. 

The same as man wheels away his life of woe. 


47 


THE GOLDEN WEDDING DAT. 


They had a golden wedding, 

And a jolly time had they, 

For it has been just fifty years 
Since their wedding day. 

And now their wedded life 
It has been a great success. 

They have lived true as man and wife. 
And who can be better blessed. 

Their friends were invited— 

All but a very few— 

They had better been invited 
Than to have been slighted too. 

For some of their friends that they left 
They were just as true 
Where they ate their wedding dinner. 
They had better been invited too. 

But it was all in a mixup, 

Too much like an Irish stew. 

And that is why they slighted 
Such as me and you. 

Oh, but they were like rags and tags, 
And like bummers with jags. 

And fools and cripples. 

All mixed up in a bag. 


iUNlHINE. 

Oh, bright was the sunshine 
That has passed away, 

But now dark is the sorrow 
That is pressed on us today. 

But we still remember 

Of those bright sunflowery days 
It seems like only tomorrow. 

But those days are far away. 

And those days are never 
To ever return again 
Yet we try to endeavor 

But our heart only breaks with pain. 

When we think of those flowers 
That used to bloom down the lane 
Where we have so often played. 

Where we never will again. 

But life is like the flowers 

That bloom in the spring time. 

But we fade from our bloom as soon 
lyike the October’s chilly nights. 

It decks our brow with sorrow 
And paints our heads as white 
Yet we still cling for tomorrow 
But our life has gone to blight. 

But still we have the power to forget and give. 

A life of love, a life to live 
And we have the power to make or break 
Some one else’s sad misfortune. 


NY PARTING FRON LIZZIE. 


Shall this be forever our parting 

And our tears like dewdrops dried away. 

We feel sad and broken hearted 
When e’er we remember that day. 

When we met with so many a kiss and caress 
It would seem to cheer up our hearts, 

And our feelings we would both dearly bless 
Whene’er we had to part. 

So oft’ thou has laid thy face against mine 
And tears from thine eyes in mine have fell, 

And whispered to me sweet words of love, 

Sweeter than tongue can tell. 

Should we again ever meet. 

Yet we’er far, far away. 

Yet remembrance will always be sweet, 

Oh, my dearest Lizzie. 

M 

LOVERS’ ^USS. 

Girlhood joy and boyhood great, 

If you love one another never forsake, 

But join your hands and two by two you must stand 
To help one another through earthly troubles if you can 
But earthly troubles at times seem greater than life. 

But days will pass through every strife. 

Like the violet that blooms and fades away. 

And so goes life and so goes day by day. 


50 


TIME. 


Everything changes 
From time to place, 

From woes or happiness, 

Or wrinkles on thy face. 

But, oh, the lapse of time 
Tells of many a tale 
From some hidden crime 
Or some mysterious trail. 

Some are striving in vain 
And trying to make. 

Some are dying in pain 

For happiness that others take. 

For some are eager to take 
Which belongs to others. 

Their fellowmen they will forsake. 
And rob their mother. 

Some will murder, 

Some will rob 
For a few furloins of money. 

And then bless the Lord. 

Oh, what is this life 

To a poor and honest man. 
Nothing but toils and strife 
And woes to the end. 


51 


Immortal ones, how they will scringe 
When they meet the judgment day 

To settle for their sins, 

For they have many to pay. 

For if there is a God 
Then he will bless 

The poor and honest one 
And damn all the rest. 

M 

WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead 

Not much about me will be said 

Of my freaks of nature. 

When I am dead. 

I will soon be forgotten 
And left behind, 

Whether my deeds be good or rotten 
To the human kind. 

But from o’er this life of trouble 
I will strive to do the best I can, 

For it fades like a bubble 

Or flies like chaff in your hand. 

But from the mark of my grave 
They will carve my name 

To the goodness which I gave 

Which will leave some mark of fame. 


52 


And from the good old times 
Which we have lived 
And have left behind 
All we can give. 

We left to our offsprings 
And left our life anew, 

Which is the greatest thing 
For all the world to do. 

For soon will be the day 

When my aged frame will lay, 

Then my offspring can sing and play 
When I am wrapped in clay. 

M 

PKIDE.. 

I’ll bow my hat, I’ll bend my knee 
To those that bow, and bow to me. 

It must be high life that they see, 

The reason they don’t bow, and bow to me. 
Thousands better in common sense may be, 

’Tis but money that they see. 

For money to humanity ’tis but a heaver, 

One of the greatest and fondest deceivers; 

But money, pride and passion 
Seem to rule all the fashion. 

Yet I value it but little worth. 

There are thousands cut off of their senses at birth. 
For one good original thought 

Is worth more than a thousand bought. 

So I’ll bow my hat. I’ll bend my knee. 

To those that bow and bow to me. 


53 


A TROUBLED HEART. 


The autumn winds they mourn 

And the trees their leaves have shed 
And the frost has seared the corn, 

And the flowers all are dead. 

And the woodbine has lost its tint 
And the hillsides are bare, 

And the summer days are spent, 

And my heart sinks in despair. 

And the snow clouds are sweeping 
O’er fields and forests bare. 

And I am silently weeping. 

And my troubles there’s no one to share. 

For my little children are so needy, 

The poor little helpless ones, 

And there’s no one that has any pity. 

And my troubles have no end. 

For these cold wintry days. 

With all its wrath and scorn. 

And every day I wish and pray 
That I had never been born. 

For my little children climb upon my knee 
And look up in my face with pity. 

And the only thing that I can see 
Is but poverty and misery. 


54 


TO LUCY ON THE DEATH OF HEK LOVER.. 


What is the use to weep, and what is the use to mourn, 
There are thousands die, there are thousands born, 

*Tis like passing from night to early morn. 

And yet from me all my pride and pleasures torn. 

It might have been all with gladness 

And happiness might have been all the day, 

But now I sink in deep sadness 

And my heart will soon pine away. 

\ CR.ITICIJM ON THE BANKERi. 

Oh, ye bankers of high delight. 

Figure it as ye have a mind to. 

And call it right. 

If it hadn’t been for good luck and fortune chance 
You would now be wearing blue overalls 
Instead of pants. 

And with your fine collars and white shirt 
You would now be like myself. 

Working in the dirt. 

I’ve seen you walk in such high delight. 

Trying to imitate something 
Beyond your sight. 

You think because you are a banker 
That you are more than you contain. 

Just because you carry the name. 


55 


THE OLD place:. 


Down on the old place 

Where my time I whiled away, 

But my thoughts I can retrace, 

Yet it seems no longer than to-day. 

But from the bars of fortune 
That held me there, 

Which was a weary burden. 

But still I donT care. 

For I have learned many things 
Which I wouldn’t have learned. 
Which to me was a hidden king, 

A toiling in the dirt. 

I found I had very few friends 
Only from nature’s gifts, 

Which would wrong me to the end 
And rob me still. 

For I tried to be an honest man 
And so I toiled away 
O’er the field of stone and sand 
For my debts to pay. 

But the people would laugh and sneer 
And not a word of praise would say. 
So I toiled on year after year 
And whiled my life away. 

Yet I have but little faith 
In the human kind. 

For they are the worst of the race. 
Even to the swine. 


56 


From ignorance and poverty 
Humanity has to obey, 

But it is the poorest combination, 

From all the fates of the human ways. 

Yet I feel for my friends 
That by me did stay, 

For I will be true to the end 
In every way. 

For I had some friends 
That money didn’t stop 

That felt for their fellow men. 

And had the trueness in their hearts. 

For there was one man. 

His name was George Brown; 

He sent for me to come and see. 

When sickness had drawn me down. 

With the goodness of nature’s heart 
He turned and said. 

Is there anything that I can do? 

For you’ve long been sick in bed. 

If the world were honest and true 
To his fellow man 

How much better we all could do. 

And it would be pleasing to this land. 


TO- 

Thou could turn my frowns to cheers, 
Thou could turn ipy love to tears. 
Thou could turn me to a noun to love 
And to love to live and live alone. 


57 



LIFE’i TROUBLED. 


Oh, thus soon this life of trouble 
Is but like a dream of sorrow, 

For it is nothing but a bubble 

That which is today is gone tomorrow. 

And some other springs forth 
To love, to frown or scorn. 

And he goes on with nature’s course 
Until he wishes he was never born. 

Oh, God our creator 

Something must have seen 
In the ordination of man. 

To pay back to it’s mother earth 
And to fly with the drifting sand. 

But this life is like the motion of the ocean 
Or like the murmer of the sea. 

For there is no love in devotion. 

For this life is but misery. 

I 

UNiEEN. 

Every person has a skeleton unseen, 

And every mind has a thought untold; 

But oh, how they would intervene 
If you went to unleaf the fold. 

For when you come to pare the hearts of men 
Down to their days of youth; 

You will find that the most noble ones 
Will regret the truth. 


58 


PAIT. 

Life cannot support itself, 

Wisdom is not its own master, 

It takes life to support life. 

And wisdom follows after. 

M 

vSTANZA. 

This is the feeling- of my choice. 
That now you may read, 

Your feelings it may invoice. 

Yes, indeed! 

iTANZAl TO C. H. PAGE. 

Youthful early hours 

Are like new blown flowers. 

And like pastures green. 

All is beautiful we’ve seen. 

But age has pressed on me, 

And those flowers are gone, 

I can only look back and retrace 
Who had those smiles on their face. 

Now, when all pleasures are gone, 

And age it is a thorn, 

Yet I carry some of the fame 
But I have lost the chain. 

But pleasures are not to blame. 

There’s as many left as we ever gained 

And left for others to claim. 

But we have lost the chain. 


59 


A GAMBLER.. 


Now rambling is all I claim, 

For I’ve spent my money in a gambling game, 

For gambling was all my fame. 

But now poverty is my name, 

For I’ve spent my money in a gambling game. 

Oh, wonders I, and life unknown. 

Such a life to live and live alone. 

Eyes all blurred and face all red, 

All thoughts of the living, no thoughts of the dead. 
Oh sad may be your morning steps. 

And cling to you the night’s regret. 

And to all that you can’t forget. 

M 

OH, MY JERRIC! 

Oh, my Jerrie! 

You are my only berrie. 

Why did you long to run away 
And leave me here to worry? 

Why don’t you stay by me 
As I stayed by you. 

And be like a man should be. 

And do as you ought to do. 

But you have flown to some other zone 
Where your heart feels no pain. 

You have left me without friends or home. 
And like a nation, slain. 


60 


My virtue you’ve overthrown 
With disgrace and scorn, 

There’s no place on this earth for me, 

And with all my pleasures torn. 

With a babe at my breast 

And no place to lay it to rest. 

No one to sooth or for it to mourn. 

But all the world points at it with scorn. 

For such follies are never at rest. 

They always point to it with shame. 

For such are never blest. 

And I am always to blame. 

Yet it is still worse on you. 

For I have always been true, 

But I have to bear all the shame. 

But in God’s eye you are all to blame. 

Yet fading from thy passion, 

I am regretting thy rage. 

It seems to be all the men’s fashion 
Just to want to engage. 

But promises are 

Like birds that fly in the air. 

Soon are departed 

The same as all momentary pleasures are. 

We oft’ times vow with virtue set, 

But with high sensitive passion we do forget, 
Which oft’ times brings a burden upon us. 
That all our lives we do regret. 


61 


TO nr YOUTHFUL MAID. 

How sweet it is to love and how sad to part, 

To all this love prince thou art, 

How sweet the maid when in youth, 

But cords of time does abuse and offspring tell the truth. 

The old maid, how disdainful she looks. 

Like the worn leaves of some children’s books, 

But worn, not from mother’s cares, 

But from some sadder despair. 

Don’t dwell on this too much, my youthful maid. 

And don’t be too fond to be engaged. 

And don’t love where love will cause pain. 

For love without happiness it is no fame. 

In this world there is some worthy mate, 

Don’t look too much to wealth and fashion. 

For love in a humble cottage 

Is better than sorrow in a mansion. 

But marry a man if you love him. 

And, of course, if he loves you; 

Remember this be forever true. 

Never marry a fool whatever you do. 

AN UNHAPPY NAN. 

A man without happiness 

Is like a dog without a master. 

He knows not his friend, he knows not his foe, 

And he knows not where e’er to go. 


THE KlivSE^ OF WliHEvS. 


It was on the banks of Rock river, 

That flows and will flow forever, 

Yet nature is more than man can endeavor 
Why lovers kiss and kiss so clever; 

Yet so often tried then hit by follies’ blow. 

Where love’s secret makes a public foe. 

And sees nothing ahead nor nothing behind 
Where love still leads the fickle mind, 

Yet sits with a thousand-wishes. 

But it is the fruit of more than a thousand kisses, 
But with all your spent joy 
It does with you so annoy; 

Your pretense was whiter than snow. 

Yet your guilt is as black as a crow. 

With high and pompous estate 
Should it be as “Parisinas” fate. 

Before the creeds court, but men do relate 
As “Azo” “Hugo’s” sire did doom his fate. 

But is it right or is it just to let such go 

To found a thousand joys on another’s woes. 


KNOWLEDGE. 

In this world we are always seeking 
For something greater, 

Yet darkness may be our destiny’s end. 
For we cling to all God’s blessings 
For some brighter and sweeter end. 


63 


nr FATHER’vS COTTAGE. 

I’m going to my father’s cottage 
That lies down in the woods, 

Yes, I’m going to my father’s cottage, 

I think I can do him good. 

My mother’s hands are palsied, 

Her limbs are growing feeble and cold, 
My father’s days are numbered. 

For he’s growing gray and old. 

Chorus. 

I’m going to my father’s cottage 
That lies down in the woods, 

Yes, I’m going to my father’s cottage, 
I think I can do him good. 

I remember when in childhood 
I used to run and play. 

And gather those wild flowers 
There day after day. 

But now that place is lonely. 

For we’re all far to roam. 

There’s no one left there only 
Father and mother at home. 

Chorus. 

But when father and mother 
Yes, are both gone. 

We’ll think of the right. 

We’ll think of the wrong. 

When their graves are all mossy 

And the old place looks cold and bare. 
We’ll think of father and mother 

When they gave us their tender care. 
Chorus. 


64 


THE FALCON’i DREAM. 

Ah, thoughtless of heaven, and thoughtless of joy! 

He were once a wild and reckless boy, 

But yonder descends the smoke in the far west. 

And must my body lie here mingled in the ditch with 
the rest, 

For this long and undivided world 

Has caused many a man’s head to whirl, 

For the steps of life without a strife 
Makes a wreck of a man’s life. 

Yonder stands the lofty oak. 

Its branches swinging to and fro. 

That God has given thee strength to grow. 

And he lies silently to sleep. 

His deadly wounds no more to weep, 

For the heavenly clasp has laid him 
Beneath the soddy mass, 

And the thoughts of the future no longer will pass. 

But o’er the darkest night and the brightest day 
Man must pass away, 

But his soul lingers still. 

While he lies silently to sleep o’er the mossy hills, 
Where the trees that grow. 

And the violets that bloom so sweet. 

And the birds sing their sweetest song 
When there o’er they meet. 

Oh, God of heaven and man of earth I 
He was but a child at his birth. 

But his life is like the new born leaf, 

No longer does cease, 

For his days have gone by 

And God will help every man that lives to die. 


65 


TO A FANTAiTIC LADY. 


Why dost thou smile, and smile so, 

And why dost thou flirt and so fondly flirt. 

For thou art lower than dirt. 

Her hair is both black and wavy. 

Her teeth are like the pearls; 

Who would think she was such a lady. 

And such a lady of the world? 

For she is as fair as the sunbeams of the day. 

And as sweet as the roses that bloom 
And bloom in the month of May. 

And yet I deem thy birth’s the worst. 

For in nature’s goodness but little are given. 

For thou has no divine love nor feeling. 

For thou art ruled by the devil. 

But oh, your bangs of frizzle and face of laugh, 

’Tis enough to make the most solemn tune play fast 
And play and so fondly play. 

And hope that the hour would never be the last; 
Even if myself could object 

To smile with such a lady if I had the luck; 

For I am poor and I have to wear ragged pants. 

For a lad like me can never get such a chance. 

A DREAM. 

I had a dream of a lightsome day, 

When fields were green, and orchards bloom in May, 
When bees and birds were singing so gay. 

And little Archie was running at play. 


66 


TO THE VALSE. BRIDE. 


Married today and like left tomorrow^ 

And left my bride in sinful sorrow, 

My sorrow I can share with you no more, 

For your greatest is but the prints of a hoar. 

If you had been what you should have been, 

Life would have been complete and happiness would 
have been the end; 

But now all is disgrace and sorrow, 

When so happily might have been the morrow. 

But it is all in a tarry and such a life of worry, 

All who looks and speaks knows that life isn’t complete, 

For I show the scorn on my brow, the shame on my cheek. 
And I want no one to smile, and to me no one to speak. 

Oh, what a world of wonder. 

And humanity a blunder. 

One half of the world knows not what the other half is doing, 
If they did they would find them stewing. 

M 

MINUET 

Her cheeks were like the wild roses. 

So black and wavy was her hair. 

Her smiles were more than I could bear; 

Her kisses were as soft as the dews that fall 
In the early tint of night. 

And she would throw her arms around me 
And press me to her bosom so white. 

And say, I love you, wrong or right. 


67 


THE REPUBLIC. 


Swank he won 
And well done he, 

For he is as fine a' man 
As you ever wish to see. 

There is Johnson Lawrence 

Would have done as well as he, 
For he fought for the country, 

While the others went free. 

It is hard to tell 

When in such a fight, 

One side is always wrong, 

While the other is right. 

But boys, be content 
In whatever you do. 

And remember your country 
And stick by the boys in blue. 

Now, boys, hang together, 

No matter how it ends. 

Be friends and shake hands 
And try it again. 

There was Abraham Lincoln, 

That great and noble man. 

He says all hang together 

And we’ll have a prosperous land. 


TO MT LOVE. 


Oh, my sweet and lovely one, 

That I have loved so long and well. 

Thou hast forced me to misery’s end. 

Which is worse than all the pangs of hell. 

When your name is ever mentioned. 

It is as mournful as the coo of a dove, 

But again I can never force my afFections, 

For another to ever love. 

Yes, yes, I will stand th6 grief, 

Both the pang and the pain; 

I only hope you will always have happiness, 

And never have to stand the same. 

When vile and rigid passion 
From deceit loves you no more, 

You’ll think then of other than foolish fashion, 

And of a heart that loved before. 

When the flowers bloomed sweet in the the springtime. 
Yes, oh, my Ollie dear! 

You will then think of your youthful hours 
And of a heart that loved you dear. 

But we will wither like the flowers of springtime. 
From our glorious and youthful prime. 

Then we will think of each other. 

That we have left so far behind. 


T\S ALL IN THE MONTH OF MAT. 


There is the rose that puts forth its bud 
With all its leafful spray, 

And fans the fragrant air, 

All in the month of May. 

There is the apple tree, 

Bloomed with fullest array, 

And there hums the merry bee, 

All in the month of May. 

There is the lilac that blooms 
With all its foliage so gay. 

It looks so fine in those days. 

All in the month of May. 

And the trees unrobe all their foliage 
In full leafful spray. 

And there the birds build their nests, 

All in the month of May. 

There in the green fields 

The herdsman waits not for a day, 

And the herds, they enjoy that play, 

All in the month of May. 

There is the valley and the mountainous slope, 
And there violets open their lips to say, 

I have come forth to stay. 

All in the month of May. 


70 


There is the little school boy, 

In barefoot he begins to play, 

And goes to school with a merry song. 

All in the month of May. 

Then comes the bright moonlight nights, 
Softened by the warm summer days. 

And then the boys like to play, 

All in the month of May. 

It is then when lovers meet 

And o’er the gate kiss so sweet. 

And love there, and love to stay. 

All in the month of May. 

From the moonbeam hours. 

Sweetened by the fragrant showers, 

And there so often names the nuptial day. 
All in the month of May. 

I have passed my boyhood days. 

When I used to run and play. 

Now I am growing old and gray, 

But still I love the month of May. 

jsr 

SOCIETY. 

Oh, talk of society and style. 

The poor and ignorant ones. 

It is a burden on freedom, 

It wrongs many a good and honest one 
And withers many a love. 


71 


THE WRECKED LIFC. 


In my girlhood joy I loved once an only boy, 
Thoughts of marriage and of care 
Have brought me to my rocking chair. 

But now with a child at my side, 

My husband roaming wide. 

His life like water that flows awide. 

Like many other streams that have no guide. 

But my loving, thoughtless fear 
Enters my lonely ear. 

As his lonely footsteps come 

My heart beats and flutters like a drum— 

My only child’s a drunkard’s son. 

But thoughts of the apple tree, 

Of the birds that sang to me. 

And sang of his future life. 

Like I, before a wife. 

But see my life, worn, ruined, 

I took the steps of ruination 
And landed on the screws of damnation. 

Like many another poor one has trod. 

And lies beneath this cold, cold sod. 

But home is home, no matter where you roam. 

For the brow of care will unpart thy folded hair 
And lie thee to rest 

Where God has made thy nest. 


72 


But oh, there’s the sun! no, ’tis the moon 
That shines here o’er the dismal sky, 

While God watches me till I die. 

Mother, my lids are closing. 

My hands feel numb and frozen, 

No longer does my pulse go nor come. 

But death I do not shun. 

But carry me to my lonely and shaded grave, mother, 
That God will give me thy pleasure to gain. 

And lay me low in the gloom of night. 

Where God will watch my soul of light. 

M 

TO MT MART. 

Like the fairest morning. 

As the sun kisses the rose. 

In nature there is a longing. 

In pleasures of sweet repose. 

Like the lily that opens its lips. 

Can be softened by the frailest dews. 

And oft’ by woes are nipped 

From a heart that should be true. 

Drop by drop went those affections, 

Withered from that love and hope. 

But from my Mary it is broken. 

But by words that was never spoke. 

She wipes away many a tear 

From the scenes of pleasures departed. 

And the one she thought most dear 
Left her broken hearted. 


73 


NOT FOR. ME. 


Oh, sigh not for me 

For that weeping heart to bless, 

For all the pangs of life I have seen. 

And now I long to rest 

This cold and desolate shore, 

Like some vanished isle, 

And we weep here by the score, 

Like some infant child. 

Had we not the faintest hope in our breast, 
Our knowledge it would be but vain. 

For we can only hope for rest. 

And be like a nation slain. 

For this weak and pulsive mind 
Is only held by that thread of hope, 

We can only linger with the bars of time. 
Then it is forever broke. 

What is the sweet murmur of life 
When in the age of destiny? 

We can never again recall our life 
For it is but the dark eternity. 

I care not for the restless heart of man. 

Nor for the knowledge that’s spent. 

Nor for the kings of the land, 

Only in human content. 

For once it was heaven upon earth, 

But now that I can only tell. 

Then my heart was filled with love and mirth, 
’Tis now but the pangs of hell. 


74 


THEN YOU’LL LOVE ME I LOVE YOU. 


Now we are married and are man and wife, 
Combined in the woes and pleasures of life, 
And for both of us to be true, 

Then you’ll love me as I love you. 

Nature has us blessed 
With this sweet caress, 

And for both of us to be true, 

Then you’ll love me as I love you. 

In all of our communion 
Let love be the union, 

And both of us be true; 

Then you’ll love me as I love you. 

Don’t ever do a wron^, 

Let home be a song. 

And both of us be true, 

Then you’ll love me as I love you. 

Cut off the jug handle, 

And don’t quarrel nor wrangle, 

Both do all you can do; 

Then you’ll love me as I love you. 


OLD AOE. 

When age breaks our chain of passion. 

We’ll go hobbling and snupping about. 

We’ll be like boys always adopting some foolish fashion 
And taking wrong for right. 

75 


THOIE DAT^ THAT ARB OONB. 


When youth was blooming 

We thought not of life’s consuming, 

But as the dewdrops sparkle in the grass of the morn, 

We pass away and others are born. 

It was then when the little squirrels run and play, 

And when the partridge used to drum for some rainy day. 
And the ding dong of the distant cow bell 
Was sweeter to me than ever music swelled. 

But age has cherished me on, 

And now life is but a thorn, 

And I can only think of to-morrow. 

For those days are gone. 


THB TRUB.ST MUJT PART. 

’Tis long that we have been two, 

’Tis sweet now that we are but one. 

And we should always be as true 
Till life troubles end. 

Thou should be woven as spider webs 
In every dream of love 

Thou shouldn’t think that thou art any better. 
But that thou art just as good. 

For now we go to our only bed. 

And upon that breast I will recline. 

And with that love we will be fed, 

Which will sooth our weary mind. 


76 


For now all the pleasures of youth is ours, 
But the days of youth will decline, 

But we will live till that time expires, 
With the hope of love divine. 

There will be a time to come 
When we will be sad at heart, 

For just as true as we are made one 
We must be torn apart. 

For death’s untold time 
Will not come with bliss. 

Then we will not have those smiles, 

Nor have love’s sweet kiss. 

M 

STANZAS. 

Oh, once the love of youth, 

But now the pang of age, 

Which in ignorance I did abuse. 
When in pleasures I did engage. 

But now in remorse and shame. 

In deep regret of age, 

Could I again those feelings claim 
And my heart be freed from pain. 

A TOA^T. 

I now brim my glass to drown the past, 
What more can the future be? 

For nothing but woes entwine my path, 
And here’s good luck to thee. 


77 


WHY AM i TO BLAMED 


Had I not in this early youth of passion 
Been the lover of evil kind, 

Then I might have been in higher fashion 
And not had this deluded mind; 

But from the early passion of youth, 

Which has stained my brow, 

And now it is but little use 
For me to harp it now. 

Had I not had that fire of youth 

And been like some uncultured vine, 

Then I would have been more moral in youth, 
And with pleasures more divine, 

When unraveling the youth of nature, 

And nature’s feelings are but this. 

It is to multiply the creation. 

And to yield to love’s sweet kiss. 

For everything was made to multiply. 

Even to the sweetest rose. 

And our feelings were not made to die. 

But to blend in others repose; 

For even the birds and the bugs. 

The smallest insects of the earth, 

They were all made to love 
Each others reverse. 

But why should I be to blame 

When nature has fanned the flame? 

And why should I be ashamed 
To sooth another’s pain? 


78 


For mine is not the worst, 

Nor neither is mine the least, 

Nor was I the first 

To sooth another’s relief. 

For there was Adam and Eve, 

They did both disobey. 

So now you all see 

That we have the debt to pay; 

But is it to us a blessing. 

Or is it a heartfelt blow? 

Now it keeps us all a guessing 
To sooth each other’s woes. 

Adam and Eve were the first to disobey 
In this land of creation. 

We might have had pleasures more array 
And not had this damnation, 

For they were the first to feel and see 
The fruits of temptation; 

Had we ought to blame their decree 
When we still love the devotion. 

If we had all been bound in virtue 
And Adam and Eve had not begun. 

We would not have had this multitude of creation. 
Nor had no congenial heart to love; 

For God is but like the sun. 

And heat it is but life, 

He made man and woman to enjoy each one. 

And to share with their toils and strife. 


79 


He knew in a life like this, 

With troubles we would be driven, 

And if woes couldn’t be soothed by a kiss. 
What would be the use of living; 

He knew the whole outcome 

When he placed us in temptation. 

And he knew just what would be done. 
For he created the earth and heaven. 


OH, jCENEJ! 

Oh, scenes of pleasures!' 

Oh, scenes of joy! 

Oh, scenes of early childhood, 
From pleasures decoyed. 

Oh, scenes of trouble! 

Oh, scenes of woe 1 
Oh, scenes of early blossoms, 

It is now covered with snow. 

Oh, scenes of hate! 

Oh, scenes of love! 

Oh, scenes of so many a mistake 
That brings no good. 

Oh, scenes of trueness. 

Oh, scenes of deceit! 

Oh, scenes of hellishness. 

That makes the heart weep. 


80 


NONE BUT ME. 


I am sad and lonely, 

My heart is disconsolate, 

For one that would love me only. 

And would never forsake. 

And where that true heart may be, 

It may be beyond the sea. 

And, oh, how I would like to see 

The one that loves and loves none but me. 

For the pulse within my breast 

Is as restless as the motion of the sea. 

And how I long to be at rest, 

For the one that loves and loves none but me. 

For if I was bound to my better half 
The future would be but glee. 

Then I would linger no more upon the past, 
With the one that loves and loves none but me. 

With these weary toils and strife. 

Oh, how much better would it be 
To spend the days of our life 

With the one that loves and loves none but me. 

Then as old age presses us on. 

Then our wrinkled faults we will not see. 

If we both truly marry the one 

That loves, and loves none but me. 


81 


THE DCW OF TOLTH. 


Oh, the bright springtime of youth 
That blooms everywhere, 

But it fades like the dews 
And we sink in despair. 

The sweetest bud of the rose. 

Or the lily that blooms more fair, 

Only lingers a moment in repose, 

And then its leafy form is bare. 

For the wild birds they all sing, 

They enjoy that bloom 
In the sweet time of the spring, 

In those golden noons. 

But like the flowers of youth 
That bloom so tender. 

But we fade as the dews 
And can only remember. 

We bloom the same as the flowers of spring, 
But we linger to remember. 

And if we knew youth was such a fickle thing 
It would free us from many a blunder. 

For youth is but ignorance 
And age it is but regret. 

But we still hold it with a blessing 
And with a sad contempt. 

For life it is but a blossom. 

And we wither the same in age. 

We are governed by nature’s same motion 
Till we go onward to the grave. 


82 


PLEAiUREi AND WOtS. 


Oh, how pointed is the vain of youth! 

And how deaf is our ear, 

And our pleasures we do abuse 
That blots our future years; 

We hope, we sigh, we strive in vain. 

And it causes to us many a tear. 

And it only ceases to the heart in pain, 

A youth so blind and yet so dear. 

Our troubles we can defy 

And our pleasures we more widely spread. 
The woes that we can’t deny 
Are sweeter than pleasures dead; 

Our pleasures we do uphold 
And our woes they will flee, 

But which is the sweetest to our control 
Is the hardest to let be. 

But, oh, how we strive in early life, 

When our pleasures are unworn. 

But we soon wear to the age of life 

When both sorrow and pleasures mourn; 

If we, like the grass, again spring forth 
And the root of life still remain. 

And then we again could recall our hopes 
And free our hearts from pain. 

There still lingers a feeling within my heart. 
When from age and sorrow worn. 

For then we can only live within the past 
And be from all pleasures torn; 


For this life is but a living woe 
When the age of youth is spent, 

Then we only think we know the more, 

But still we know less, but more in pretense. 

Then pleasures and woes can be but one. 
When old age should be but bliss, 

For life is but like the rising sun 
That sinks away to rest; 

For nature has made us to fade, 

So the progress of nature goes on, 

And when we wither away to our graves 
Then we will leave others to mourn. 


vSTANZAi, 

Tife have we 

And but little to let. 

Those days that have passed 
Is that which we do regret. 

In thy self bear not all the blame. 
But beware of thy name. 

For that which thou loseth 
Thou can never gain. 

M 

GONE. 

Which was once my utmost treasures 
From me are fled, 

Which once were pleasures 
Now are dead. 


84 


WHAT HA^ PAiiED. 

Oh, give me back that bloom? 

Yes, give me back that cheek. 

And give me back that maiden 
That I used to kiss so sweet. 

But now that cheek has withered 
And those smiles are gone. 

It’s like clouds that have gathered 
Before the coming storm. 

Then sweeping on from youth. 

The tide of prime is o’er, 

’Tis like the bugle sounds 
Before the coming war. 

For youth is but such lotted time. 

And our hopes die like withered smiles. 
We only cherish it with a disdainful look. 
With so many a heart broken vow. 

But from pleasures we are passed on, 
With so many a heart bound pain, 

’Tis only a mark of nature’s laws. 

So such can bloom again. 

So what is the use to weep. 

Or what is the use to mourn. 

When age does on us creep 
And our pleasures are all gone. 

For what has passed and has been once 
Can never be again. 

Yet we may look back with regret, 

But we must abide by the same. 


TI-5N’T THAT. 


’Tisn’t because the morning rays 
Dries away the dews, 

’Tisn’t that that makes our hair turn gray, 
Nor the love we never knew. 

It is the one we hold so great, 

The fairest one in view, 

But, oh! how that heart will ache 
To find that one untrue. 

But, oh! how great is that strain 
When the lips in love are pressed. 

And how our hopes will expand 
When love is truly blessed. 

But from our early, youthful years 
There comes many a change. 

Oft’ the one we thought most dear 
Leaves us but a bundle of pain. 

But there’s always someone within our heart 
That seems the dearest one. 

And if by troubles they are torn apart. 

That is trouble we can never lend. 

But, oh! how it will retort the mind 
When we look back to bliss. 

And see that we have left behind 
Which was once love’s sweet kiss. 


86 


LIFE NOT ALWAYS MAT. 


When my heart was as gay as May, 

And the same bloom was on my cheek, 

I thought not when I’d be old and gray. 

Nor the sorrows I would have to meet. 

But now age has made me gray 

And trouble has opened wide its hand, 

I find autumn is no longer May, 

And winter is close at hand. 

For now I care not for the birds’ sweetest song. 
Nor the sweetest flowers that bloom. 

Nor whether the day be long or short, 

Nor the fairest rising moon. 

For now all pleasures for me are past. 

And all days seem the same, 

I care not for the people’s crowded mass, 

Nor for the drifting snow or rain. 

% 

For now I am so old and inferior 

That the people shun me where’re I go. 

For there is no one now to call me dear. 

And all my friends seem but foes. 

But when in early winter storms 
I could stand the bleakest rage. 

Then I could fold in my arms 

The one who is now in her grave. 


87 


But when mourning and sorrow came, 

I cared not for my friends to speak, 

For my heart was rent with pain 
And with tears I did weep. 

But now in my few remining years 
I care not even to comb my hair. 

Only to wipe away the reminding tears 
And let them fall in despair. 

But from my early faded years 
Those tears have fallen in regret. 

Not by fault of the one I loved most dear. 

But from scenes I can’t forget. 

Now soon peace will come to me, 

And we will return back to May, 

When together again we will be. 

And our hair will be no longer gray. 

M 

CHILDHOOD DAYl. 

The same moon remains in the sky single. 
The stars shine as bright from o’er above. 
There’s none with my heart can mingle 
As those of childhood love. 

Oh, childhood joys, and childhood sweet. 

In sweet repose and in beauty sleep. 

But give to me like where childhood weeps. 
And wrap me again in those cradle sheets. 


THE OLD TREE AND NE. 


So oft’ I’ve seen that tree of shade, 

In all its robes of splendor, 

And o’er its boughs the little birds have played 
And sang so soft and tender. 

But now thy boughs are bent with age 
And thy foliage is unseen, 

But oft’ there in childhood I have played. 
When I was just as fresh and green. 

But now age has bent me low 
And people care not me to see. 

Only to pass and make such remarks— 

Oh, let the old thing be! 

They look at us with disgrace. 

In the most mournful shame. 

But when age ungilts our face, 

It leaves us but the pain. 

Oh, youth! how free our joys are spent. 

With so many a gladsome song. 

But old age it has no content. 

Only in sadness and forlorn. 

So as you gaze on the old tree and me. 

It seems sad that our days are past. 

But nature has named our decree. 

And we have done all nature asked. 


THE BUNCO MAN. 


I want to live a quiet life 

And have a sweet domestic home, 

For I care not for the world’s gambling strife, 
Nor those that want to roam. 

Why should I care for some millionaire. 

Or for the bunco man? 

For they only look at me and sneer 
And say let the fool go on. 

Why should I bow to his great wealth. 

Even so humble may be my lot, 

F'or I would rather have my joys and health 
Than all his money ever bought. 

So I’ll live a sober and quiet life, 

And do the best I can. 

I’ll not bow to this world’s gambling strife. 
Nor to the bunco man. 

M 

ON THE DEATH OF A NEIGHBOR. 

When the old man died 
The old woman cried. 

And the dog he whined at the door. 

The cat ran away as fast as she could. 

And they will never see her any more. 


90 


TRANiFIXED. 


Our lives are all transfixed, 

And our knowledge is practically the same, 

And circumstances causes us to think, 

As nature gives us the strain. 

For in one thing a man may be smart, 

In another he may be a fool, 

And another may be twice as sharp. 

While the other may be but a tool. 

So all men can’t be alike, 

And all men the same can’t be wise. 

If it wasn’t the difference between black and white, 
We would never be surprised. 

So the difference between colors and knowledge 
It oft’ times deceives both the mind and the eye. 
So if you want a preacher, send him to college. 

If you want a lawyer, just learn him to lie. 


REMEMIBRANCE. 

The roses may bloom brighter and sweeter 
In deep remembrance of days of old, 

If roses always bloom the same as spring time 
There would never be no snow. 


91 


LIFE’^ CHANOEJ. 


Flowers will come 
And flowers will go, 

From the sweet summer roses 
To the cold winter snow. 

All things will change, 

Yes, and all things will go. 

From the early lot of pleasures 
To the deep pangs of woe. 

For what is pleasure to one 
Is not pleasure to all, 

It may only add grief to some broken heart 
And cause it to mourn. 

As the rose puts forth its bud 
To bloom in early May, 

There comes a million bees and bugs 
To sip its life away. 

And as one life comes forth. 

So does another go. 

The same as the seasons do 
That bring forth the snow. 

Yes, flowers will come 
And flowers will go. 

From the sweet summer roses. 

To the cold winter snow. 


92 


ON THC GOLDEN WEDDING OF 
JAMCi TAYLOR. 


Tliey bad a golden wedding, 

And a gay time had they 
For it has been just fifty years 
Since their wedding day. 

For their wedded life, 

It has been a great success. 

For they have lived true as man and wife. 
And who could be better blessed. 

They have both worked hard. 

And have laid up quite a sum. 

And he has made a good and happy home 
For he had nothing when he begun. 

Now this great and industrious man. 

Is about o'er his barge of life 
For he has done about all he can, 

With his toils and strife. 

He has been a true and honest man 
In all his acts and deeds. 

Which is a blessing to this land. 

For such a life for a man to lead. 

But he will leave something behind 
From o’er his toils and strife 
Which will leave a mark subiime. 

From o’er the bivouac of life. 

If all the world had as well done 
As this good and honest man. 

Then, there no fault could be found. 

It would be peace and good will to man. 


MAOOIC. 

SOSO. 


It was when orchards were in bloom, 

And meadows were green, 

The merry hum of the honey bee. 

And the birds did so softly sing; 

And nature had unfolded 
All her mantles green, 

It was there our tales of love we told. 

That life’s sorrows no more would be. 

Chorus. 

But, oh, Maggie, 

I’m raggie and jaggie, 

Oh this life’s sorrow, 

If it could end tomorrow 

Then no more trouble I would borrow 

Of this love’s horror. 

Oh Maggie, we met with so many a kiss and caress, 
And you vowed, that you, by me would stay 
And that our love would be always blessed. 

As it was when we named the nuptial day. 

But; oh, now Maggie when we meet, 

’Tis but a wrangle and a quarrel, 

And our vows are no longer sweet. 

And our lives is but a weary toil. 

Chorus. 

Could I now only go back 

Where no vows of love I knew. 

Then I would return my tracks 
To the world that is untrue. 


94 


For if I bad never loved 

Then no sorrow would I now know, 

For the sweet vows of love, 

Are generally bound in the wedlocks of woe. 

Chorus. 

But when age has pressed me on 
And nature’s gifts are gone. 

And I go tottering along. 

And they say that he has gone wrong. 

But they know not the tales of sorrow. 

But I will bow and softly say 
That love has been my foe 

And that is why my life is blotted so. 

Chorus. 

But now to all nature’s gifts. 

And to my friends I ean’t deceive. 

For we are not all the truest blessed 
To which we have got to give or leave. 

For there is the pang of love, the lear of hate 
That is entwining, 

Which causes so many a hidden fate. 

And yet is always smiling. 

Chorus. 

M 

DEATH. 

When my lips, cold to cold are pressed 
And my eyes in darkness are closed. 
Then I lay these feeble limbs to rest. 

And yet does the mind still know? 


95 


the: SE.ASOSS change: 


Of those days which have gone and past, 
Those which we do regret, 

Yet we will cling to them to the last, 

For we never can forget. 

But so sweet were those hours 
We did so much adore. 

They were like early blown flowers. 

But will bloom no more. 

This would be a cold monotonous world. 

If everything was the same. 

We would know not the joys from the woes. 
Nor the pleasures from the pain. 

If this world was all the same. 

What would pleasure be 
If it wasn’t for the seasons change. 

Life would be but misery. 

When the flowers come in early bloom. 

And cold winter has gone 
It drives away all the feeling of gloom 
To see those grassy lawns. 

Then comes on the blooming rose. 

And the birds that sing their song. 

Then we rejoice in sweet repose, 

For that season has gone. 

These changes were all put here. 

For the gloom of man. 

For the changes of the year, 

Is the beauty of the land. 


What is the use to sigh and weep, 

When pleasures are gone, 

We can’t always our pleasures keep. 

Nor expect to be in song. 

This world has all its ups and downs 
And still we pass on. 

For the world goes around and around 
And are soon gone. 

M 

HOPE. 

If my theory is wrong I am lost, 

But if it is right I am saved; 

For there is no one that knows 
Anything beyond the grave. 

There are so many with a weak and feeble mind 
That build so many castles in the air. 

That will shortly be left behind. 

And sink in the saddest despair. 

But when the end comes. 

We’ve all got it to meet, 

For we may be bound up in hell 
Or heaven sweet. 

So do not tremble before the blow, 

For the same as we come, so we must go. 

For God to one, is God to all. 

He will not sink us great or small. 


97 


nr Lovc, ADIEU. 


It was where flowers bloomed sweet, 

And forests were green; 

That was when me and my love used to meet 
In those summer eves. 

But now those forests, their leaves have shed, 
And November winds are sweeping. 

And those flowers have withered and gone; 

And I am left alone, weeping. 

It was then I thought of nothing but love, 

But now, sweet love adieu; 

When love, was sweetened by love, 

Then I loved no one but you. 

But still sweet are those recollections. 

But my heart sighs in pain. 

Once she loved with sweetest affections, 

But now, me, she does disdain. 

Now those feelings still linger in my breast. 

And mouldering in my bosom’s core. 

Once the one I did love and bless, 

I can never love no more. 

But so deep were those affections, 

It haunted me in those dreams of night, 

But I awoke, and found it was only recollections. 
Of those days of love’s delight. 

But now away with those dreams. 

Your love I will no more implore; 

And those feelings I do disdain, 

For I care for love no more. 


98 


But love it was sweet; 

When I called it all my own, 

When me and my love used to meet, 

But now I am left alone. 

But now dreary is the past; 

My wisdom so dearly I have earned, 

But I remember to the last, 

For all of my lessons I have well learned. 

But now all I care is to roam. 

And no others I would like to try, 

For I care not for love nor home. 

But I only long to die. 

A JUNE DAT. 

This is a bright and summer day 

And the fields have spread their mantle sheet, 

And the birds they warble in the branches o’er the way. 
And life seems so complete. 

Oh; such a day of rejoice 

With all the cares of life to keep. 

To hear their little tender voice. 

To me they sound so sweet. 

And the roses have opened their lips 
To kiss the sunny morn. 

And there the honey bee takes many a sip. 

And goes singing his merry song. 

Oh, sweet summer time. 

When the flowers are all in bloom. 

It is so pleasing to the mind 

And drives away the feelings of gloom. 


Lore. 


BACHELORS. 


When in early life 

And in childhood pride, 

All my fancies was for a wife 
For a more moral guide. 

It was then I felt lonely, 

And eager for a mate, 

To make a sweet and happy home, 

It makes a man more great. 

I started out in life 
For a wife to get. 

And I found it was follies strife. 

And I am trying yet. 

But I still live in hope. 

But I say I don’t care; 

But I would like some one to court, 
Some one that I can bear. 

Some are to homely. 

And some are too nice; 

Some dress to much in a bungle. 
While others are too wise. 

But in this world, 

I must have a mate. 

One that I deem myself worthy. 

For my consummate. 

I would like some one 
To share with me. 

For that is the way the world began. 
Of love and misery. 


100 


But oh, talk oflove, 

Then bow to fashion, 

It is the greatest of follies humbugs 
That ever was fastened. 

But act in this world 
To your own fancy. 

Don’t be ruled by some pretty girl. 

Nor by human vanity. 

M 

THE AOE THAT PAST. 

Only to weep and sigh and mourn, 

For those blessed days of youth, 

But I can only regret and scorn. 

And tell the humble truth. 

It was then all nature spread 
And all pleasures I did bless; 

But now those feelings are gone and dead. 
And I only long for rest. 

But nature has unrobed 
All her pleasures to me. 

Which I was eager to control, 

But they were more than I ever could see; 

But oh, nature’s restless wings 
That brings forth peace 

From the loving smiles of spring. 

That gives the heart relief. 

But when in the tender leaves of youth. 
Those woes are not spoken. 

But from love they are abused. 

And we turn heart broken; 


101 


But is it from nature’s ease 
That we turn so forlorn, 

Or is it from the hearts we try to please 
That decks our lives in scorn. 

But we go drifting on 

All with the human mass; 

But then we can only see 

As we see ourselves in the glass. 

We can only retrace those vows, 

But in our hearts we mourn 
And those feelings are bleeding now. 

For that which has gone. 

In all nature, her pleasures spread 
And the sun in its orbit glows, 

And nature with the feelings of love is fed. 
Both with friends and foes. 

But those feelings I do impress, 

To all those feelings which I have had. 
And all nature I do truly bless, 

Altho my hopes are dead. 

But now I am only left to depart 

From this life of pleasure and of woe. 
Which I do only retort 

For I do not fear the blow. 

For my life I have had 

And I care not now for the space of time, 
For my heart is as gray as my head. 

And the lot for all, is mine. 


102 


MY ANNON. 

SOSO. 


When all nature love had told 
And her feelings I did bless, 

And all my feelings I did unfold 
To her sweet caress. 

For love in those tender years 
We oft times do regret; 

It leaves on us a lingering tear 
Which we can never forget. 

Chorus. 

Oh, my Annon, my sweet Annon, 
Thou art all the world to me; 

Oh, my Annon, my sweet Annon, 

I can never live without thee. 

It was in the fringes of early youth. 

And the bars of fortunes are untold. 

Then’s when loves vow should be true 
Regardless of gold. 

And then my Annon vowed to me. 

And all her feelings of love to me she told, 

But anothes she did love to see 
That had wealth and gold. 

Chorus. 

And with the distant look on her faee. 

Which looked like deceit to me; 

And when I offered, to her, embrace. 

She says oh, let me be. 


103 


Then I said, my sweet and lovely one, 

Oh, what can it be, 

That has turned your life of love? 

For you are so cold to me. 

Chorus. 

Then the stillness of the hour was broken, 

By a look of some hidden token 
Which can be seen, but is never spoken 
Only by a lover that is heart broken; 

For love it haunts the very soul 
Which by words is hard to express; 

And they are the hardest feelings to control 
When love is not a success. 

Chorus. 

Then she only wept and said. 

Oh, you are too good for me 
I only wish that I was dead. 

And leave this world of misery, 

For I promised you truly 
That no other I would take; 

And I have wronged you shamefully 
Which is all my own mistake. 

Chorus. 

It was from wealth and fashion 
Which the world is eager to grab 
Which from you I did unfasten; 

But oh, now I feel so sad; 

You have fixed a sweet and lovely place 
And now how happy life might be, 

If my vows I hadn’t retraced. 

For I have done as wrong as wrong can be. 
Chorus. 


104 


Oh now, will you forgive, 

And take me by your side? 

And then I can so happy live. 

If you will take me for your bride. 

I still love you the same 
But my hopes are shaken. 

Which has caused my heart many a pain. 

And now I feel sad and forsaken. 

Chorus. 

Yes, dear, I can forgive, 

For you are all the world to me; 

Without you I cannot live 

For there are no others the same can be; 

Then she threw her arms around his neck 
And her answer was a kiss. 

For they were kinder words than she did expect 
For such a wrong as this. 

Chorus. 

And then she avowed anew 
We’ll let such sorrows pass. 

And I will live more true 
Until the very last. 

We will drive on from this sadness 
And we will seek from our woes. 

We will cherish in gladness 
And let all such sorrows go. 

Chorus. 

For you can talk of all kind deeds 
And great men of this land. 

There is nothing so refining 
As a lady’s love to man. 


105 


It, from all nature smiles, 

And our passion is impressed, 

For then we will live more true, 

And our lives, be more happily blessed. 
Chorus. 

To blight the early love of youth, 

You might as well cut the plant down, 
For there are never none that seems as true. 
And the same again is never found. 

For love in those tender years 
That we do often regret; 

It leaves on us a lingering tear. 

That we can never forget. 

Chorus. 

M 

TO nr OLD LOVE. 

Oh, how long has that voice of thine. 

Which has withered me from the bough 
Which has tampered with the love of mine. 
But I care not for thee now. 

For those vows are fluttering with the gale. 
And now all love it has expired; 

But I refrain from telling the tale 
From all loves sweet desire. 

But withering from that feeling, 

And yet my heart it does uphold 
I have been forever consoling. 

But still my heart grows more cold. 

Oh, can I ever forget 

That sweet loves embrace. 

And yet I feign to regret 
Those smiles upon thy face. 


106 


For deep in the embers of my heart, 
Those feelings on me do impress, 

It seems as though it never would depart. 
But now, I care not for the rest. 

Yet, it has been a weary pang on me. 
With all those sighs of love at rest, 

For I frowned all others to see. 

And care nothing for all the rest. 

Maybe thou art unfeeling 

From all this loves happy bliss; 

Yet from woes I am revealing, 

And I long for love’s sweet kiss. 

But distantly far I do remember, 

When you I did upbraid; 

But now it seems to me like mourners 
That are marching to the grave. 

And if I had never seen anything untrue 
From your vows of love and scorn. 

Then I would have fancied none but you. 
And our vows would have been untorn. 

But now, from coldness and deceit. 

Which has charred my heart to a brand; 

But once I loved so fondly and so sweet. 
But now I never can love again. 

And when she went to chide me. 

Her words were not the best; 

And when I tried to explain tocher 
She said, I care not for the rest. 


107 


Then in haste and regret 
Our parting was but thus; 

And again we have never spoke 
But I feel all the rest. 

But when in love, had she been as fond 
And as I had been as true, 

Then, there would have been no wrong 
To such as me or you. 

For with all the world’s deceit, 

Woman has no decree; 

Only to hide the action part 

And cares not for wrong or misery. 

When any one in love has vowed. 

And has been wronged like me. 

They’ll know how much should be allowed 
For a woman’s love and pity. 

She only cares her bust to show. 

And her passion it does upheave; 

She only lingers for a kiss to throw. 

And some other one to deceive. 

For those actions were so distinct 

They were plainer than words ever spoken; 

And could I again ever think 

Of those vows again to ever be taken? 

But bound in deceit and deception 
That burns thy very bosom’s core, 

You have lost all of your affections 
If you ever had any before. 


108 


Tl^ BUT PAIN. 


Only but now to weep and sigh, 

And my feelings cause me pain, 

Which was once, has withered and died, 
And nothing seems the same. 

For which was once my utmost treasures 
From me have all fled; 

Which once to me were pleasures. 

Now are dead. 

Can we again ever recall 
That which has passed. 

But it is like a picture on the wall. 

That now wears a mask. 

We are like the rose in foliage bloom. 
But it is all from nature’s course. 

But we think we wither too soon 
From our love and mirth. 

We are only put here to bloom and die. 
And only to weep and mourn; 

But oh, how we hate to deny. 

That our youth is gone. 

When in old and humble age, 

We must feel sad and forlorn. 

For in pleasures we can’t engage. 

And then life must be but a thorn. 


109 


RCORET. 


But, in regret and remorse 
My heart still lingers there, 

For to hear that sweet and loving voice 
My heart sinks in despair 

And from that youthful passion. 

With all that tender feeling, 

Then all that’s love, looks more handsome 
And is more consoling. 

But oh, when in youth 

We are so much more congenial. 

Then we so often deny the truth 
To hide our feelings. 

But when our passion dies. 

Then do we regret; 

We then only weep, long and sigh 
For that which others have got. 

We would like to retrace 

For that which we have had; 

And we hate to see the smiles on the youthful face. 
When ours are dead. 

Oh, youth, the vain and fickle thing. 

But still the sweetest of all jewels; 

Oh, how we hate to be torn from pleasures ring. 
For others to pursue us. 


110 


BY A K.\SS. 

Thou art the dearest and sweetest one 
And all my hopes on you I do bestow; 

And if by chance you should love another one 
My life would sink and die in woe. 

For all the cares and sighs of life 
’Tis all bound in this happy bliss, 

For all the sorrows, woes and strifes, 

Can only be soothed by a kiss. 

What is all to me, this life and world 
If from me you should be torn; 

It would blight me from all my love and mirth. 
And leave but a life of misery and scorn. 

But when in after by-gone years 
When age has pressed us on. 

Will love then be as dear, 

Or, will then, all love be gone. 

It may be like a sweet and summer morn 
And the sun in all its magic glows; 

Or, it may be the warning of a storm; 

For only its outer surface shows; 

For I know not the feelings of thine. 

Yet it may be only my own mistake, 

For within that hidden love of mine 
May be my only fate. 

Now this hidden love of mine 
Should it ever burden me. 

Then I would wish I had left behind. 

Where now I am so fond to be; 

But with all this love and trueness, 

’Tis all the world’s happy bliss; 

And there is nothing can soothe us 
Like love’s sweet kiss. 

Ill 


MT HEART HNKJ IN WOE. 


This cold and wintry blast, 

With the driving and drifting snow, 

It sticks to everything so tight and fast, 

And my heart sinks in woe. 

Now the forest trees are dim 

And the limbs are bending low; 

But now how I hate to look at them 
For my heart sinks in woe. 

And where the flowers used to bloom, 

It is now all covered with snow. 

And it gives me such a feeling of gloom. 
That my heart sinks in woe. 

If I had wealth and fortune. 

Then I, like others could go; 

But I’ve nothing but poverty and misfortune, 
And so my heart sinks in woe. 

Those that have plenty and millions. 

They only shun me as I go; 

And they sneer at the rags of my children. 
And so my heart sinks in woe. 

My little children come to me and cry, 

And, say, oh papa, can’t we go? 

The rich in style goes flying by. 

And my heart sinks in woe. 


112 


But poverty and scorn, that is born to those 
But oh, how I fear the blow 
And my children has to share with the fate of those, 
And so my heart sinks in woe. 

If I had been born where fortune smiles 
And luck had not been my foe, 

Then I could live in pleasures styles, 

And not had this broken heart of woe. 

TO AN END. 

The mind is dark and desolate. 

And in woes are bleeding; 

Yet I perceive the mistake. 

But the heart on those are feeding. 

But the heart throbs and goes. 

And the blood gushes to the brain, 

And it only feeds another’s woes. 

Which is the mother of pain. 

Can I again ever be 

Which once I have been? 

And can I again ever see, 

Those woes to an end? 

For now ’tis nothing but misery, 

’Tis nothing but woe; 

’Tis nothing but sorrow, 

Wherever I go. 


113 


THE RISING MOON. 


The moon is rising in the east, 

And the blazing sun is gone; 

Aud we are with pleasures pleased, 

Till the coming of the morn. 

It drives the toils to joys. 

With all the sparkling rays; 

It makes fun for the girls and boys. 

For together they like to play. 

But from the hidden shadows of the sun. 

And from the moon’s pale lighs. 

There’s where many pleasures are first begun 
From the shadows of the night. 

For there’s many a vow that’s taken. 

And many a wish that’s given; 

And many a vow that’s broken. 

And in woes are driven. 

But the moon it tells no tales, 

Nither of woes or joys; 

If it did you’d want a book as big as a whale. 
And leave out the girls and boys. 

For the girls and boys 

They like the night for loving. 

And they like to be out of sight. 

Where no one can see them hugging. 

Nothing but the poet’s sight. 

So much admires nature’s wa -, 

From the shadows of the moonlight. 

Broken by the dawn of day. 


114 


IT IS PKIDE. 


Oh life, the vain and fickle thing, 
With pride and passion; 

Oh, how we will strive to live, 

And keep up with the fashion. 

We will degrade our morals, 

And we will blur our names, 

In the mark of forgery. 

To keep up with the pride of fame. 

Oh style and fashion; 

Ah, so narrow is thy name 

For those who try to imitate it. 
Generally slaughter the same. 

Oh, what to human life 

Is better than his good name. 

And live a true and virtuous life. 

And be free from all shame. 

For once thy life is blighted, 

It is never again the same. 

For it will never be forgotten. 

And will always carry the stain. 

We should not uphold criminals. 
When immoral acts they do. 

It is only the marks of hell. 

And is not heavenly true. 


n5 


DECORATION TO JOLDIERi’ OKAVEi 


Oh, how sweet it is to live, 

When all the pleasures around us spread. 

And how sweet it is to give 

And to strew flowers to the dead. 

They were captives in their right. 

And from the battlefield they have fled. 

And for their country they did fight. 

But now they are dead. 

So strew flowers on their graves. 

And hoist up high the banner; 

For the country they have saved. 

And hold their names in honor. 

So give them the praise. 

For many a poor one has wept and died; 

And never forgot the place 

Nor the poor widows that mourned and cried. 

In the hard field of battle 

They were the heroes in the strife. 

They were used worse than cattle. 

And had to battle for their lives. 

Many days have been numbered. 

Since that battle strife, 

And there are many that slumber 
Weary from the march of life. 

U6 


But now, green grows the sod 
Over many a soldier’s grave; 

And we can sing many praises to God, 

For the freedom which they gave. 

So, strew flowers on the soldiers graves; 

Little children too, should remember the day. 
For the country they have saved 

And give to them their freedom and liberty. 

M 

PAilED LIFE. 

Oh, how soon I have seen my life wither away. 
And my pleasures one by one have fled; 

But now, I can only truly say. 

Which once, all I loved, is dead. 

For when I chase back o’er my early scenes. 

Only something half forgotten remains; 

It seems like some inexpressible dream. 

That you never can tell twice the same. 

M 

JOKKOW. 

Does sadness add to peace 

Or, does grief only feed another’s woes; 
What will yield to one’s minds relief 
Some others heart can’t bestow. 


117 


CALENDAR WEEK. 


There are seven days in a calendar week 
And that is all we can claim; 

We will take three days for grief, 

One for sunshine and rain; 

We’ll add one more for recreation and relief 
And two more for pain. 

So now, you have the calendar week. 

And the months will figure the same; 

And every year it will add more grief 
To a man’s sorrow and pain. 

So what is all this life of strife? 

And what do us poor mortals gain. 

When you figure from his life 
The sorrows, woes and pain. 

For it matters not what a man is worth. 

Nor how great is his name of fame; 

At the end he can claim no more of his mother earth 
Than some poor paupers name. 

But oh, how we work and strive in vain. 

To keep this weary life along; 

But we are only swallowed up in pain 
And we are forever gone, 

But oh, how we will weep, mourn and sigh, 

As our friends one by one they go; 

But we are all born to die 

And they have only paid the debt we owe. 

So now you have the calendar week. 

And the months they figure the same. 

And every year it will add more grief 
To a man’s sorrow and pain. 


118 


I KEMEMBEK. 


I remember when I used to play under those willows, 

It seems now like a dream to me, 

When the frogs were croaking in the meadow. 

With the wild hum of the bee. 

And where we used to go swimming, 

My schoolmates and me, 

Where the frogs were always singing, 

In their discords of sweet melodies. 

Then I used to roam the forest 
Among the wild birds and bees. 

And hear those sweet echoing noises 
That chimed the chords of melody. 

M 

YOUTH. 

It was in youth when the atmosphere was fine. 

And the sun showed its radiant beams. 

And the days of youth had not declined. 

And life was the fountain of a voluptuous dream. 

THE GOLDEN PCN. 

Oh those mental strains of wisdom. 

Those heart-broken days; 

There may be another kingdom 
That may vibrate the other way. 

So take this life in all and all. 

It may be my golden pen; 

For withered leaves are sure to fall, 

But fresh are sure to come again. 


119 


PAilED ON. 

We wither in age, 

And sigh for rest; 

Our lives are in the second stage, 

Which is not the best. 

We think not when we are passing on 
From woes, sorrow or song. 

That our lives are so quickly gone. 

And we are the old and humble ones. 

Some wish themselves back 

And some think they are as young as ever, 

’Tis only like the prints of a track, 

For they can’t endeavor. 

THE. ANT. 

Oh, you ant, so slim and gaunt. 

Your days are but few, your life is but scant, 

But you dig your hole with the utmost control 
And there you live, both strong and bold. 

CARCLEii. 

The more I think, 

The less I bear, 

The longer I live. 

The less I care. 


120 












NOV 10 1906 

















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